9 Crimes
by Dylissia Jane
Summary: " How long do I have to wait before you let me in there "     Nick patted his chest. Sentimental. Was something she had never pictured him as.


Title – 9 Crimes

Pairing – Nick & Sara

Rating – M

Authors Notes – Alright – I'm getting back in the groove. Been a little over six years before I started reposting my stories. Please Read & Review. I appreciate this much more than I can put into words. Thank you for taking the time to have a quick read :)

Disclaimer – These Characters are not mine – if only they were than they would be together.

When the storm clouds gather. The lightning flashes. The rain falls with a bittersweet splat colliding with the ground. Accumulating with magnitude, aftermath from the collisions forming rings that twist further and further out dissipating with the edges. Wind howls, picking up errant strands of hair not yet drenched from the downpour, chilling her to the bone. Breath mists when spent. Hands become clammy from the bodies effort to keep warm. Her face becomes slick, hair sticking to one side, her eyes transfixed still, on the rain falling from the heavens. Her feet seemingly glued to the pavement, shoulders hunched, her throat eerily dry, lips parched cracking, manicured eyebrows pinching together in a mere effort not to give into the emotion that overpowered her senses.

Her hands clasped tightly, crescents remaining apparent against her porcelain skin. Teeth pinched at her lips, her unfamiliarity with such emotions proving discomfort. It had been such a long time since she had wanted to give into the tears that rendered her so solely dependent on work. Work had become an unhealthy habit to her. There was no time to explore other avenues that elicited such passion as did advocating for those who simply could not for themselves. She slowly had turned away from everything that proposed her with a reason to feel something other than numb.

After being suspended. She sat in her apartment. Bleak with resentment. Anger twisting her insides, as she sat stoically with her back flush against her favorite chair. It was a superficial attachment she had to this chair. It was the same chair she remembered her mother sitting in to read to her – While not the exact chair. She had been overjoyed when she spied it sitting proudly in an opportunity store. Had relished in the way it felt the same. Spent hours, tracing idle fingertips around the curious patterns. The way the fabric felt against the pads of her fingertips, the way it cushioned her weight. The way it almost felt like being in her mothers arms again. It was one of the most cherished memories of her child hood. She remembers nothing more than the hand of a stranger. Whom she enlisted her trust. Whom had taken her to services. Someone had collected her, dressed her in a Scarlett dress that she had tucked away for safe keeping. The dress had faded with time. The color less pronounced, more calm as the years had past. She had been lost in the system. Had grown up fearing the worst. The phrase of you are your parents, reeking havoc with her as she grew from a confused little girl, into an angry teenager, into a broken adult.

The years had worn away at what haunted her. But struck her just as sharp with each case that likened onto her own upbringing. There was that silent communication. Within the confines of her mind. That silent mantra that seemingly followed her wherever she went. Whatever she did. Science taught her otherwise. Genes are merely a suggestion. You control what you become. She had heard that phrase so many times it was almost condescending. Almost a home remedy brewed up for those who have nothing to hope for anymore.

She felt his hand on her back. The warmth seeping through to her cool skin. Nicks voice heavy with sympathy. His eyes silently condemning the conversation from occurring. There was no need for any explanations. There was nothing to be said. He lowered his hand to the small of her back. Urging her towards his car. Always the gentleman – draping his jacket over her shoulders, opening the door for her. Watching her limber frame clamber in. Her eyes downcast avoiding his. She watched his dark lone figure walk around to the other side. Heard the click of his door opening, the intrusion of the wind and rain sloshing around outside, before it was closed. Leaving only the sound of breathing, the jingle of keys, the plastic sounds of folding his jacket up.

" You wanna talk Sar ? "

Nicks concern was more than apparent as his hand clutching the steering wheel so tightly, you could see the whites of his knuckles, see his Adams apple bopping from the dry swallows. The uneasiness of his eyes. It was almost to painful to bare the brunt of what she was carrying. Whatever it was that was eating her. The marks on her arms became more apparent whenever it rained. The anger of a lost soul, etched into her porcelain skin. The brazen white that attracted him towards her in the first place.

The way her eyes – even though close to his color seemed that much more darker. The way her hair contrasted with the nape of her neck. The errant strands that were plastered against her face. The way they were beginning to dry, forming tight ringlets, that bounced against her pronounced cheek bones. The long graceful lashes not stirring, staring forwards, her lips pursed in words of thought. There was something so sinister about this kind of beauty. Something so powerful that it was something to fear.

" I'm taking you home "

Nick stated assertively, her eyes connecting with his for what seemed like an eternity before she nodded in quiet acceptance.

Sara watched him carefully. Her mind afloat with words unsaid. She watched the few drops of rain that had taken up residence on Nicks chocolate hair. The way the drops would cause the hair to hand lower than the others, the way the drops would playfully chase each other across his chiseled jaw line. She watched the way his eyes would squint, the way his breaths seemed struggled. His forehead crinkled, watching the road. Streetlights, coming and going across his face. She could of sworn she had seen something other than rain falling down his cheeks.

Moments passed. A distinctive sniffle alerting her attention.

" I wish you would just tell me Sar "

Tired. Weary. She had expected none of those. She had not predicted that the toll of not letting somebody close could destroy some one that already had. His lips had pursed into a thin line. His eyes a glaze. Red, how long had he been holding back ? Why didn't he just ask me ?

" How long ? "

Nick pulled into her apartment complex, switching off the ignition. The silence apparently eating him alive. His fingers entwining amongst themselves. Sara looked away, her hand reaching for the handle, when she felt his gentle fingertips reach for her chin, his thumb turning her to face him, his eyes holding her captive. The tears spilling from them so openly. It was an emotion that stirred something from within her. Something hidden so long ago she could not understand. There was something in her mind telling her to run. Run as far away as you can. Move just move. Anything.

" How long do I have to wait before you let me in there "

Nick patted his chest. Sentimental. Was something she had never pictured him as. Sure – dependable. Ethical. Efficient. Professional. Country Boy. But never sentimental. Heart was foreign to her. A myth. The philosophy so foreign to her she had avoided it entirely.

Dumb founded she stared at him disbelief. Why would he want to be part of something so self destructive.

Nick caressed her cheek, watched her eyes flash through messages, thoughts unknown to him. It was almost like she had been hearing this for the first time. The frustration was imminent he had been waiting for so long.

He pulled his hand away, grasping hold of the steering wheel. Heard a loud sigh fall from her lips as she blinked away tears that had been brimming ever so subtlety. She held her composure. Turning away from him, the wind howling as she opened the door. Nick like a statue had not moved.

" Are you coming ? "

Once inside she resided towards that favorite armchair. Nick following her footsteps, shrugging off his coat, leaving it on the table near the front door, his keys clanking against the table top. Sara collapsed into the specific chair allowing it to bear the brunt of her weight, allowing it to catch her. To cradle her as she logically assessed what she should do.

" Are we going to talk Sar ? "

" Yes "

" When "

" Now "

" So tell me "

That's about as far as the conversation flowed before heaving great sobs took over her frame. Her body seemingly in shock from the tears that pooled, spilling down her cheeks. She trembled her voice cracking to find the words, to find anything. To finally LET him in.

Nick edged towards her, his heart yearning, his hands falling against her shoulders, splaying fingers across the slender girth of her body, His arms enveloping her pulling her flush towards his chest, feeling her heart accelerate beneath her damp blouse. Her hair falling against his neck, the scent of lavender invading his nose. The tears falling freely against his shirt, her hands pressed against his chest. His eyes seemingly mirroring hers. An unspoken confident. A contract that bound them so tightly. An admission of being able to process pain.

The fear of being left alone. Without a soul in the world to understand. So clearly defined by her gasps. The underlying self destructive behavior that loitered around her logic. The drinking. The bitter after taste of medications to get rid of that feeling. All rising to the surface claiming superiority over her mind.

The thoughts that followed her. That followed him.

Imploding, surrounding them with nothing but sheer unadulterated truth.

Using his thumb and forefinger he caressed her tears, wiped them away. Pressed the bridge of his nose flush against hers. Gently kissed at the tears – memorizing the bitter aftertaste. The salty sensation as he pressed his lips to hers. Yearning to explore her. To learn from her. The way she hadn't fought him. The way she had drank him in. Tasting him. Her hands falling to the nape of his neck. The way he had cradled her, his hands rubbing her back – his fingertips occasionally dipping beneath the fabric, falling against smooth skin, so soft.

She remembers the way his stubble had scratched against her skin. The feel of his lips smothering hers, his breath falling against her neck, as he bowed his head to tell her she was beautiful. The way his hands had held her forearms. His lips kissing the marks from years past. Remembers the way she had leaned into him when she had felt his hands against her bare skin.

She remembers, feeling for the first time. So connected and disjointed all at once. Remembers the way he smelt, the way his lashes had touched her skin. Remembers his lips how soft they were as he kissed away her tears. Remembers the way they tasted against his tongue.

Don't forget to breathe.

Gasping for air, he bowed his head, resting it against her chest, listening to the rhythmical thuds hollow against the shell of his ear. He remembers the way her hands seemed so small, inching their way over his forearms, the way she had began to unbutton his shirt. The way she had pushed his shirt from his shoulders.

They had made love.

Had explored each other to the depths, had taken the leap of faith.

That chair sits in her lounge room. It's her new favorite chair. Not because of some child hood memory that elicited pain rather than joy. But because that's the first place she had finally let someone in. Somebody who understood. No questions. No anger.

Funny how questions unanswered seemingly bring you to the point of falling.

Nick had caught her. His happiness apparent, as his fingers toyed with her wedding band. Resting his ear against her prominent stomach. Listening to the heartbeat of their child.

There was no longer a need to question what it was that had made her that way.

The records stated it clearly.

Her secret – that was not hers to carry. That had been thrust upon her because her parents were too weak to keep it to themselves. 9 crimes. Was all it took to break her.

Staring into his eyes, was all it took to fix her.

TBC?


End file.
